An Untold Story of Perciver
by L'heritage de Carillan
Summary: Stolen moments of a romance that nobody never saw happening.


Here here! Behold our first chapter of _An Untold Story of Perciver_ , hope you'll like it!

 **DISCLAIMER:** We own nothing but our love for Percy and Oliver, the rest is JKR's propriety.

 _Si la vie vaut la peine d'être vécue,_

 _c'est à ce moment : lorsque l'humain_

 _contemple la Beauté en soi._

 _Symposium_ \- Plato

"Hey, Perce!"

Percy Weasley looked up from the parchment he was reading with his characteristic seriousness and found Oliver Wood's chocolate orbs way too close from his face. He took a step back, startled. The smirk on his friend's lips grew wider and more amused while Percy straightened his glasses on his nose, trying to hide the quickening beating of his heart caused by the sudden apparition of the Gryffondor's keeper.

"For the last time, Wood," grumbled the ginger teenage boy. "Stop flagging down people when you're _that_ close from them. You scared the _hell_ out of me!"

"And yet you still fall for that," sneered the other boy. "Wanna see something really cool?"

"If it's your new Comet 260, I'll pass."

Oliver's smile fell at once and the little twinkle in his eyes seemed to fade away out of despair. Percy felt a bit annoyed by that, but also quite amused. Oliver Wood was so _easy_ to toy with! He fought back the urge of teasing him, and chose to roll his eyes instead.

"Oh come on, you sent me _three very detailed_ letters about it over the summer, it's like me and your broomstick already met."

"Well you could've answered my letters, no need be so dismissive about it," muttered the athlete, hands in his pockets, obviously hurt.

"Stop sulking, I'll see to that later on, in our bedroom, deal?"

"Deal!" His eyes were twinkling again and he had a wide boyish smile on his face. "What're you up too anyway?"

"You know." He agitated the sheet of parchment in front of his friend's face. "Head Boy's duties."

"Is that a name code for lurking in the corridors after the Welcoming Feast?"

"No, this is work. I do work; _you're_ lurking in the corridors after the Welcoming Feast. And you shouldn't, because it's almost curfew."

"Oh it's ok," shrugged Oliver. "I know the Head Boy, I'm sure he'll be cool enough to give me a free-pass tonight, being the first day of terms and stuff."

Percy gave him a nasty look under his glasses and sighed when he saw the cocky grin twitching on the player's lips. Percy had been living with Oliver for six years now. On this evening of September the first, the seventh year was starting. He knew this cocky grin by heart. So he knew right away that there was no point in arguing with Oliver, because even if he was the authority figure here and that rules applied _also_ to His Highness, the King of Quidditch, he knew that the player just wouldn't listen. He would do what he pleased anyway. Oliver Wood had the very annoying habit of always doing just what _he_ wanted, no matter the rest of the world around him.

Plus, Percy really wanted to avoid having a row with his roommate so early on the term. He sighed.

"Fine. But this is not going to be _fun_ , Wood. This is _work_."

"Aye aye my captain!" He messed around. "What do you have to do anyway?"

"Schedule for the Prefect's round." He answered absent-mindedly.

"Ew."

"And if you start complaining, I'll give an hour detention, is that fine by you?"

"You're tough. I'll behave."

Percy snorted and opened the door they had just reached. On the other side, there was a little room. It was not quite the type of classroom they were used to; the tables and the chairs, arranged in a square in the middle of the room, were the same furniture that in their classroom: wooden, dusty and old. The walls were upholstered with ancient, dog-eared parchment filled by more or less caring handwritings saying stuff like "Please Find a Way to Deal With Fourth Year Slytherins Other Than Detention, It Doesn't Work" or "finish your paperwork. it is not pleasant to do it for other people" and "DO NOT GIVE POINTS WHILE DRUNK!". In a corner, there were a few little bookshelves overwhelmed by heavy and austere-looking books and dictionaries such as _A History of Hogwart's Finest Prefect_ or _Hogwart's Regulation. Rules and How to Dispense Them._ Near the way-too-luxuriant bookshelves laid a brown leathery sofa, just underneath a narrow window.

Without much of interest, Percy sat on a desk, and excavated a large sheet of parchment underneath a set of books, which couldn't fit in the bookshelves. He reached for an old quill and started writing on the parchment, his nose frowned in deep concentration.

Oliver looked about the room with utter curiosity. He whistled a little but shut up after a dirty look from his friend. He seemed to have his heart set on the sofa because he flew himself on it.

"So this is where the magic happens." He commented.

"Wood." There was a warning in Percy's voice but he didn't look up.

"Oh, am I not allowed to talk? 'cause I know you can work while I talk."

Percy ignored him. Truth be told, he really could, but only because Oliver was hardly ever quiet. So he had learned to work while his roommate went on babbling loudly about absolutely enchanting practice, enthralling new laws on Sport's regulation or the awfully ugly wardrobe of his fellow comrade. All in all, he was a very loud teenager and Percy didn't mind anymore. And so he kept on talking.

"I always pictured the Prefect's lounge as an awful and very lugubrious place," he said. "Like, with only books and old candles dripping all over the place, no window, no chair -let alone a _sofa_! Well, a bit like the dungeon but with less humidity and a lot more dust. I mean, this is _cosy_ , dude! I'd never have imagined, in a million years, that this place was _cosy_. It's not as nice as the locker room, but, hey, this is not that bad, really! And it smells kind of nice, too, no dirt and sweat and triumph, but, you know, stones and parchment have their charms, haven't they? And tea, this room smell like tea, you have some? 'cause I'd like a cup, if you have some, and -of course- if you don't mine. Do you want some?"

Percy raised his blue eyes to face his friend's. Oliver was perched on the edge of the window. He was looking at the Lake with delight and seemed to have forgotten all about tea. He whistled a little and the ginger boy couldn't help feeling warm and chilly at the same time.

"Hey, never mind the tea, do you have booze?"

Percy crooked an eyebrow.

"This is the _Prefect's lounge_."

"And not-drinking-alcohol isn't an actual rule, it's just frowned upon. You're not supposed to be in possession of a bottle, but being drunk _is_ allowed, and all of this only apply to booze with more than nine percent alcohol."

His smile was radiant.

"Damn Fred and George," Percy muttered.

He got up with a sigh and fetched, into a drawer on the table on the left, a can of butterbeer and launched it to his roommate. With his quick reflexes, Oliver caught it and opened the can with a _pschiit_! He immediately started drinking it. Percy had returned to his desk and was deeply annoyed by all the different possibilities his paper was dispensing. He turned to Oliver who was looking at him, scratching the top of his ginger hair with his white quill with a light and warm smile.

"You're a captain," Percy said. "You know how to make agendas fitting for everyone, yeah?"

"What do you mean 'fitting for everybody'?"

"You know, standardize each and everyone's schedule so that you can all go to practice together."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well..." Percy was starting to have doubts about asking him for help in the first place. "How do you schedule your quidditch practice?"

"Oh, easy! I book the pitch when it's free. It's a shame though; it's only early in the morning or late in the evening. And on weekends, but weekends don't count, there are just made for quidditch."

"But... What if your players have other appointments? I don't know, what if they have Charms' Club, for instance?"

"Well they move Charms' Club. Obviously."

"Obviously," Percy agreed, not because he _actually_ agreed but because it was _obviously_ the sort of thing Oliver would do.

He returned to his parchment and did his best to ignore his friend who was now standing and looking at the books in the room. Butterbeer in hand, the quidditch keeper started shuffling through the books while keeping up with his discussion.

"Why are you working anyway? Isn't it supposed to be _two_ Heads?"

"Yes."

"Why isn't the Head Girl working, then?"

"It's Penelope Clearwater."

He could _feel_ Oliver freezing, stopping pretending he was actually reading and giving him a very knowing look.

"So you're not a thing anymore?" Oliver said and to Percy's surprise, it wasn't with a mocking voice.

The authority figure turned around to grasp the wrongness of his previous assumption. Oliver's gaze wasn't _knowing_ ; it was... It was... Percy couldn't really describe his look; it was puzzled and intense, strangely belligerent and profoundly indecisive at the same time. The Weasley felt incredibly delicate in front of this stormy gaze and warmth spread all over his chest and his ears.

He re-focused on his parchment, his throat very dry.

"Why are you here anyway?" He asked after a bit of coughing. "Don't you have people _not_ working to talk to?"

Oliver snorted dramatically. Percy felt in safe ground again.

"Angelina said I wasn't allowed to be in the same place as Harry 'cause he was in chock or whatever and _apparently_ my presence was overwhelming and stressful for him, so she send me away!" He accompanied his sentence by a tragic hand gesture and Percy snorted at him.

"Yeah," he commented. "Nobody wants to talk quidditch on the first day of school."

"No, Harry _fainted_! I'm really worried about this, actually."

"Oh really?" Percy said wryly.

It seemed hardly possible that Oliver genuinely worried about Harry Potter fainting on the train. Not because Oliver didn't like Harry or something like that, or that Oliver wasn't a _genuine_ person, he just had different priorities than other people's welfare; priorities such as be smugly loud about stuff, winning quidditch cups or listening to very weird muggle music. People's welfare came _after_ those priorities, so Percy thought it seemed hardly possible that Oliver genuinely worried about Harry Potter fainting on a train because he would probably realise what this meant in a week or so. And his friend's answer matched perfectly his knowledge of him.

"Yeah, what if dementors pop-up in the middle of a game and he faints again? We don't have a seeker's replacement! D'you reckon we should? I don't think we should 'cause, let's face it, Harry's the best seeker in Hogwarts, hiring lesser than him would be very offensive and counter-productive, because of all those _hours_ training the new seeker, can you imagine?! And all for nothing, because Harry's the best, y'know. But the dementor-and-fainting stuff I don't like very much. So anyway, I was talking about that with Alicia, and then I was almost into the Common Room and there were Angelina and the twins in front of the door, so I stopped to talk with them and then Angelina told me to fuck off and I was like 'what?!' and she was like 'Yeah, Harry's been fragile so don't put pressure on him and go take a walk or something' and then I was like 'Yeah, whatever'' 'cause I saw you lurking in the corridors and then I joined you and ta-da!"

He looked very very proud of himself, with his enchanting smile and his glorious light-brown hair which crowned him as he waved his fingers to invoke the fake magic which fake made him apparate into the Prefect's lounge.

Percy had almost finished the round schedule and didn't had time to fake congratulate him so he merely shrugged, in a _whatever_ kind of way. Oliver didn't really care and took the seat next to his roommate. He glanced at the parchment before gazing at his friend's white and freckled long knuckles, and his thin wrist and then leaded his gaze to the butterbeer can.

Percy was awfully aware of the scald his gaze had left on his own bare skin and had no idea how to react to any of this.

Not that this kind of thing had never occurred before; Oliver's gaze first found his milky white skin in the middle of their sixth year, but he didn't know how to react to _any_ of this. Probably because he didn't know if he liked it or not. Probably a little bit of both. He felt trapped and he kind of liked it.

He kept on writing while Oliver kept on drinking. Both minds were very far away.

"So you're not doing it?"

The ginger boy blinked very slowly. Very very slowly.

"The round," Oliver added with sun in his voice. "You're not in the schedule. What were you thinking about?"

Percy wanted to disappear underground.

"I wasn't _thinking_ , Wood. I was _working_. Your voice collapsed against my working so I was unaware for a brief moment of the meaning of your words. _Merlin!_ "

"Jeez, ease up, there was nothing to be all pumped up about," Oliver said, and his tone indicated that he found the situation _marvellously_ funny. "Anyway, your name isn't on this piece of shit (he had said _sheet_ , but really, it was _shit_ ). _Penny_ 's not either."

"Don't call her that."

"Why?"

"Because..." He trailed off.

Because he didn't like her nickname on his lips. Because he didn't want to hear her being called with familiarity by his voice. Because he didn't bear the thought of her in his mind. The whole thing was making him very strange and for the first time of the evening, he wished Oliver hadn't followed him. "Because." He said again, and that was final.

"Yeah, right, great sense of wit, but why?"

"Won't you just _drop it_?!"

"Not really in my set of skills, sorry. So you and Penne Cold-Jotter. You're still a thing?"

Percy vaguely wondered where Oliver had learnt a word such as _jotter_ before straightening his shoulders with all of his Weasley's dignity.

"We were never a _thing_. We were a _couple_. Not that you would be acquainted with the concept."

Oliver snorted in the most disdainful way possible while keeping his luminous casualty.

"So you're not anymore," he noted. "What happened?"

"Well, you know. Life."

"You dumped her or was it the other way around?"

"Does that matter?"

Percy could feel his breath getting shorter and he knew it won't be long before he snapped at Oliver, no matter how much he wanted to avoid fighting with him, the keeper was being a _pain in his ass_. And the dreaming profile of his friend, considering his last question, was just a row in waiting, a call for a screaming contest that Percy loathed because he loathed his friend's bad faith, and that Oliver adored because he adored being loud and driving his friend _completely crazy_.

Percy tried to make his heartbeat even. _No fighting tonight, no fighting tonight_. It was the first day of September, for Merlin's sake!

"It kind of matters," Oliver said slowly, his gaze on Percy's furiously red shock of hair. "Because, if _she_ dumped _you_ , you're a loser, but if _you_ dumped _her_ , you're an asshole. And, dude, seriously, you can't be any of that if you want to be Head Boy."

"I think I got a little lost when you tried to use the tool known as logic?"

"Don't be smug, it doesn't fit you, Perce. Ok, see. If _she_ dumped _you_ , you're a loser because that makes you the poor little puppy abandoned on the pavement before summer's vacation. And if _you_ dumped _her_ , you're an asshole because it's a dick move to abandon a poor little puppy on the pavement before summer's vacation."

The radiant smile again, right in the face of the Head Boy. Percy's nostrils quivered.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, Wood?!"

"You know. Humans' relationships. Life."

"Humans' relationships are not _puppies_ ' situations! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Dysfunctional childhood, but that's hardly the point. So? Loser or asshole?"

"Relationships are a bit more complex than that."

"No, they're not."

"How would _you_ know?"

"From your lack of cooperation, I guess you're the former; you're the dumpee so you don't want to talk about this. Very mature, dude, very mature!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Dumpee?"

"Dude!"

"You'd rather bro?"

"Aargh! You know what? _You_ 're the asshole!"

Oliver's sparkling chocolate eyes widened a little, and there was gold of amusement in it, mingled with something so warm and so serious Percy couldn't look at him in the eyes for very long. His friend was already laughing, is Golden Boy laugh, the one that always reminded Percy of freshly cut green lawn and fields full of sunflowers, and the Head Boy felt very fragile all of the sudden, with this laugh all over him.

Plus, Oliver's knee was touching his thigh under the desk and he could feel his warmth through his badly adjusted robe, and that made Percy feel extremely chaotic for some reason.

He tried to focus on something else but, extraordinarily, his mind seemed to be set on nothing but Oliver's tanned bare skin, Oliver's shiny hair, Oliver's muscly arms, and his laugh wrapping him.

That was the moment Percy snapped.

"Stop mocking me," he roared out of the blue, getting far away from his friend.

"Don't be such a _pristine_ ," Oliver said casually in response. He leaned in his chair, looking at Percy with a great deal of interest, a crooked smile hanging on his lips.

"And stop using big fancy words you don't even know the meaning of! What do you care what happened between Penelope and I?! That's _none_ of your _damn_ business! And don't even try to pretend you understand anything about relationships; you've never _been_ in one, so stop acting like a mediwiz' of love or something, this is _bullshit_! You're just being nosy, so stop being nosy and find your own girlfriend, for Merlin's sake!"

He paused and realised he was out of breath because he had screamed all along. He felt his ears getting warm and kept on staring at his old shoes, because he couldn't look at his friend's taunting smile. His outburst was ridiculous and he didn't even know why he refused to talk about his breakup with his roommate. He just felt very uncomfortable chatting about his love life with Oliver _bloody_ Wood after daylight, in a cosy room dimly lit by an old oil lamp dangling from the ceiling, surrounded by books and a leathery sofa and hot fire and other none-sentient stuff.

It seemed very slippery and dangerous and imprudent.

"I'm not really into girlfriends."

Percy stopped breathing altogether; because while he was looking at his shoes, Oliver had gotten up and come very close to Percy. And now his voice was inches away, his sugary breath almost on the Head Boy's skin, calm and even, lightly skimming his right ear while the other boy leaned slightly over him, leaving goosebumps on the back of his neck.

He couldn't move. He _literally_. _Could. Not. Move_.

He had looked up at some point, in his dizziness, and was now staring at Oliver's messy tie. The keeper's chest rose at a very serene and composed pace, as if he was untouched by their closeness, as if he was perfectly master of his body and his mind and his way too _fucking_ calm breathing.

Percy was feeling so _so_ much right now, but the sweet smell of sunny afternoon that emanated from Oliver kept him very quiet. Not calm but quiet and for a moment, there was no sound in the Prefect's lounge and the seconds stretched because the world had stop spinning.

The world had never stop spinning for Percy before, and it was a tremendously splendid and nerve-racking thing.

Oliver sighed a little in Percy's hair as if he couldn't bear the moment anymore and Percy, out of hunger and rush, finally met his eyes.

Oliver Wood was a wonderful creature of smirk, joy and bubbly happiness; anyone who'd been able to see him flying around on a broomstick could've told this. He was a sunny wonder, glowing casually on earth, always a wordplay queued up, always a knowing smile in waiting. He was cheerful and friendly and everybody was just so _fond_ of him.

Percy knew him better.

Percy knew that behind this airy, joyful, glorious king was a little child, afraid of the silence and trying very hard to be nonchalant, so much that he only had his Quidditch captain's post to let him blow some steam. Flying was the only way Oliver could express his emotions and every walking moment was one of hard work for the player.

And Percy saw in the wild gaze of his friend the exhaustion caused by the casualty, the pain of being unknown by so many, the sadness of the lonesome existence of a soul crowded by others.

And the wanting, the waiting, the raging longing, the hungry hope clouding his face, making it a complicated and chaotic mess.

Percy thought he was gonna explode.

Without thinking any further, he extended the back of his hand to touch the keeper's cheek and the creature shivered delicately. His curved mouth was gaping but for once he had nothing to say. He leaned a little more over the Head Boy, wide eyes, parted lips, and Percy stared at him moving, completely numb, his hand still resting on his cheek.

And suddenly, Oliver backed away, shook his head, took a step back, and the world started spinning senselessly again.

The redhead realised he hadn't breathed in a while and leaned against the desk, his legs a bit shaky. He tried to look at Oliver but the keeper avoided his look, face down, blinking furiously, his shoulders weirdly straight. He seemed to be catching his breath too and Percy didn't know what to do. He was used to deal with the Golden Boy, not the frightened child. He looked around him desperately, trying to grasp what just happened. Scared to death of all the feelings smashing his chest.

"So, you're done with your shitty schedule?"

The Weasley glanced at the Quidditch player who just spoke in a weird, strangled, none-Oliver voice and raised an eyebrow. _Do not frighten him_.

"Yes, I am," he said very carefully.

"Great." Oliver breathed in deeply and raised his head in a dazzling cocky grin, and just like that, the sunny overly friendly keeper was back. "Now you can actually meet Helen and stop avoiding it. Shall we?"

"Helen?"

"My broomstick."

He opened the door and the two teenagers casually left the Prefect's lounge in silence. Then Percy turned an inquisitive look to his friend.

"Helen for Helen of Troy?"

"Yes. Because she's a wonder!"

Oliver offered him a bragging smile, self-rewarding himself for his sense of wit. Percy had an uneven smile, safe and easy again but confused. Because he didn't know if he ever wanted to be safe again.

Ultimately, he kind of liked feeling trapped.


End file.
